


The In-Between Moments

by regala_electra



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aunt/Nephew Incest, F/M, R plus L equals J
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-22 18:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12488168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regala_electra/pseuds/regala_electra
Summary: Her name is the sigh that passes his lips when her fingers press into the strong muscles of his thighs. His kiss is the promise of a thousand and more nights like this, it is the song of forever that beats fiercely in her own heart.Romantic interludes and intimate conversations on the road to Winterfell.





	The In-Between Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Memphis for the beta.

“You are a bit unkind towards my fastenings,” Daenerys says, humming pleasantly as Jon kisses down the length of her spine before turning her around so he can focus on the front of her. She is not looking forward to explaining another partially destroyed garment but she decides it is a worthwhile sacrifice. “But I’m forgiving since you’re more devoted to--”

His hand has dipped between her legs where she is hot and throbs for him. She gasps and shuts her mouth to prevent any louder noises from escaping. Enough of lovers' talk. 

They have only had a couple of nights exploring each other, but he seems to be a keen study and has mapped out many points that enhance her excitement. It is almost unfair how he manages to enflame her with the gentlest of touch. Truth be told, her whole body is alit for him even when he is not touching her, but she cannot quite give voice to that yet. 

Secrets are powerful and Daenerys intends to keep the full and terrifying breadth of her devotion to him a secret for as long as she can manage. Though she does think he has some healthy measurement of it. Her breath catches when Jon looks at her as he draws the most pleasure out of her body. It is not merely the male ego being satisfied, it is something fuller and richer and she cannot help but believe Jon’s feelings must run just as deep.

“Wait,” she says and he lets her push him onto his back. She will take care of him tonight. For Daenerys has not taken sufficient inventory of his own form.

His words are unneeded here and she will let his eyes guide her, let the gentle tremors of his body be the truth of the strange connection between them. Her name is the sigh that passes his lips when her fingers press into the strong muscles of his thighs. His kiss is the promise of a thousand and more nights like this, it is the song of forever that beats fiercely in her own heart.

 

*

 

They are in his cabin for a change. She is getting dressed, or rather, she is trying to get dressed and Jon is doing his best to prevent that.

Daenerys stands up once she has gotten her trousers over her hips, bare breasted and out of his grasp. She gathers his own clothing scattered across the floor, tossing a shirt that he sets aside as he laces up his trousers.

His sword is resting along the low chest at his bed and she touches the wolf pommel.

“Your father’s sword?” she asks after she partially unsheathes it. The blade is Valyrian and glints bright in the early dawning light.

“No. It belonged to Lord Commander Jeor Mormont.”

“Jorah’s father?” she asks and Jon acknowledges. 

“I offered to return it,” he says carefully, pausing.

“But he understood that it belonged to you now,” she says. “Jorah did tell me why he had to leave Westeros, do not think--”

“You do not need to explain anything to me.”

She decides then the sword truly is meant for him, a cruel beautiful thing that he uses to dispel justice and defend the living. “I understand it is the Northern custom that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes dropping briefly from her steady gaze as he pulls on his boots.

She stands before him, still half-dressed. Her chest is littered with faint love-bites that will be covered well enough once she is clothed. “We must meet injustice with justice,” she says, fiercely.

“Doesn’t it tire you?” 

“You carry so much upon your shoulders, Jon Snow.” She wants to say, _let me shoulder the burden with you_ , but she feels a bit foolish, feeling the chill in the air upon her bare skin. Still, she keeps her chin up, places her hands upon his face. _You are mine_ the thought comes. “Come to my bed tonight and I will make you exhausted enough to sleep well.”

He nips at her breast and she must again dance away lest they get lost in each others’ bodies once more.

 

*

 

“Shall I wait for you next time spread naked across my bed, desperate for you to ravish me?”

Jon makes a faint noise in the back of his throat and she wonders if she’s scandalized him a bit. They have gotten to know each other in the most carnal of ways and he is a most _generous_ lover, but still so charmingly restrained in giving word to his desires.

She props her head on her hand as she looks down at him, her hand tracing familiar patterns across his chest. “I do not mean to make you suffer the complexities of disrobing me when you are so eager, but I would rather not be caught naked should someone else need my attention at night.”

“Here I thought you were trying to teach me how to open all your fancy dresses,” he answers.

“I can only explain away so many torn seams and closures, Jon,” Daenerys says but her attempt at a stern tone is undone by her pleased smirk. Missandei honestly has been impressed at how often the closures across her chest need to be restored.

“I do admire your disinterest in smallclothes,” he nips at her jaw then, licking a path down the side of her throat to where her neck and shoulder meet, his hand curling at the swell of her hip.

She frowns a little. “Is that an unusual custom? My dresses and coats are corseted and I always wear trousers.”

Jon looks up at her, his other hand gentle upon her cheek. “I don't pay much attention to attire, nor think much upon what's under a lady’s finery.”

“Unlike every other man?” Her voice is dry and she cannot resist raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

His smile is sharp and flashes far too briefly, his eyes a fond, lingering gaze upon her. He kisses her pout away (she did not realize she was pouting until he kisses her). 

“I'd rather think of you like this,” he says, fingers stroking through her thatch, seeking out how wet she is for him. And she is quite ready for more though he is not there yet, cock barely at half-mast. Still he parts through her curls and rouses her to another climax, a gentler journey that crests sweetly with his lips suckling at her breast. 

 

*

 

Before they are to march upon the road to Winterfell, her council convenes briefly to confirm the necessary logistics. It is a dull affair and she fails to keep her gaze off of Jon beyond what is necessary. He seems to have a similar struggle, though his keen focus is as always on the war ahead whenever he speaks. Her Hand requests a private word after the meeting concludes and she wishes it were but a _word_ for she knows a lecture is to come.

His counsel sends ice through her veins and she stiffens her spine. Daenerys does not speak when Tyrion waits for her response. 

Tyrion cannot resist the sharp silence. “You must understand, I say this for your own--”

“You are my Hand,” she interrupts, cutting in for none of this is for _her own good _. He thinks her irresponsible as though she has ventured onto a lark and taken a lover to her bed without feeling. Yet those are not truly his words, but he is a clever man and she will not let him use Jon against her. “I have heard your words and I will consider them.”__

__She will carefully scatter them like ashes._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__Jon must have been looking for her for quite a while. He joins her under Drogon’s wing, his hair half-white in the winter storm. “The tents are up,” he says, stepping close to her once he checks that Drogon will allow it._ _

__“How much will this delay us?”_ _

__He shakes the snow off his head, looking surprised when he realizes that the proximity to Drogon’s internal heat has melted most of it away. “Hopefully not more than half a day, though we’ll need to start moving before sunrise.”_ _

__“I’m not particularly tired,” Daenerys says. Indeed, she has missed riding horses and they had only been two days on the road since leaving White Harbor._ _

__“You could always summon a council, my Queen.”_ _

__It is hard to resist smiling at how Jon says her title, the undercurrent makes her want to pull him closer to her but she resists the urge. “I’ve had enough discussion of potential strategies for the time being.”_ _

__His gaze is keen. “You don’t seem to be speaking much to your Hand.”_ _

__“We are at odds on a--” she cuts herself off, leaning against Drogon, who rumbles once she’s made contact, shifting his body so she is more comfortable. She pets him in thanks. “No matter. It will resolve itself.”_ _

__“You’re pissed at him.”_ _

__She laughs at his bluntness. “Sometimes Tyrion thinks too far ahead. I do need that. My instincts are--” _Fire_ and _blood_. “Well, they’re more pre-occupied with immediate concerns. Such as the war ahead of us.”_ _

__“Aye, we cannot all be cunning lions,” he says._ _

__“What do you envision for the North after we defeat the dead? What will you do in the coming of the dawn?”_ _

__He looks a bit taken aback, as though he had never contemplated it. “Keep my family safe,” Jon finally answers, his voice rough. He’s not being honest with her but Daenerys has not been terribly honest with him either, so it’s enough, she decides. She gestures for him to lean beside her, and he does, keeping a vigilant watch on the falling snow._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__The Dothraki bonfire is long the night before they reach Winterfell. They have no love of the Northern winter but the promise of battles to come has made them unafraid of the bitter cold nights ahead. The flames lick the sky and her dragons glint as shimmering shadows in the starlit sky. Her hands itch to touch the flames but she resists._ _

__“The Unburnt,” Jon says, after a moment, watching a Dothraki screamer pound his chest in front of the flames, finishing a long speech in honor of Daenerys, though she knows Jon has little notion of what the speech entailed. “What does it feel like? Walking through flames and coming out the other end without burning?”_ _

__She waits a long time to answer and it seems he is willing to let his question go unanswered but she feels it is time enough to let it be shaped in words. “Lonely. And powerful--to know I am a true dragon--”_ _

__“And how’s that?” There is a wry amusement in his voice but it is laced with worry._ _

__She cannot help the chill in her voice, the memory of her brother’s last words before he perished. Her answer is the same as it had been in that moment. “Fire cannot kill a dragon.”_ _

__Jon stares at the fire, considering her words. His eyes are dark and barely reflect the flames. “There were other Targaryens who claimed that and the fire got them in the end.”_ _

__“You once said I’m not like everyone else, Jon Snow.”_ _

__“True,” he agrees. His voice is a little quieter, almost ragged as he says, “You’re not.”_ _

__“I don’t make a habit of it,” she explains, suddenly feeling a compulsion to grab at his hands as if holding some part of him would be all the explanation required. She clasps her hands together, keeping her head high. “But the flames call to me as though I am a bride of fire.”_ _

__His face turns somber at that and she feels oddly guilty at her boast. They have skirted around the meaning of their relationship, for should the wars to come be won, what shall she do? She does not simply want Jon, that much is clear, her need for him has only grown the longer they are together. That's the crux of it. She wants them together._ _

__Daenerys keeps her voice low and face set in a cool countenance lest she be seen as the lovestruck woman she feels in this moment. “I would not be opposed to a husband who could temper my fire.”_ _

__It is dangerous exposing herself like this but Jon’s expression softens and his hand reaches for hers._ _

__It’s better than the feel of fire._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__She wakes with a pounding between her legs. Her dreams had been of battles, of riding Drogon, and the grim sensation of slaying her enemies._ _

__Jon is beside her, in a deep sleep._ _

__Daenerys hesitates at rousing him. Instead, she begins to seek echo that seems to be almost out of reach._ _

__She is already so damp and slicker still within when she presses two fingers deep inside her cunt, her thumb works mercilessly against her clit for she wants it fast, nothing along the lines of teasing Jon does to her when she is almost there, her thighs tensing._ _

__Jon suddenly shifts beside her, his eyes almost a dark, predatory flash in the night as he pulls her hand away and she nearly sobs but he does not leave her bereft. His fingers and tongue are at her cunt before she begs for it, a more than satisfactory replacement as she rocks against his face and releases until she is utterly spent._ _

__His cock in her is the gentle lull to sleep, for they rock together quietly._ _

__He whispers against her, “I am here,” and she can only says _yes_ and _Jon_ and _please_._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__Jon’s quarters are the very opposite of imposing and with a large direwolf curled upon the floor, the room feels even smaller. Still, it’s one of the few places that Daenerys feels they can hold a private discussion now that they are in Winterfell, though it seems all they are both at a loss at what needs to be spoken._ _

__“It’s a proper Northern ale,” he begins as she lifts the horn to her lips, not realizing it’s a warning._ _

__It’s bitter and murky, sharp on the tongue, heavy down the throat, and not even quenching. She nearly sputters and blinks her eyes to keep from tearing up._ _

__“Perhaps it makes a poor first impression,” she offers weakly. He pats her on the back soothingly._ _

__“Aye, it can grow on you, if you’re willing.”_ _

__“Do you think me so inflexible that I will not learn to appreciate...the taste of ale?”_ _

__Jon’s hand moves up her back, fingers tangled in the looser sections of her braid. She thinks he is about to kiss her, their faces are so very close. “Maybe we’ll get you started on one that doesn’t taste like a rank goat died in it.”_ _

__She laughs against his mouth._ _

__Distractions it is then. They do not do much but kiss but even that is overwhelming enough to cause the world to fade away and leave only her and Jon._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__His hair is quite beautiful and Jon tolerates her well as she combs through the damp curls, perhaps because he has taken a devoted occupation of making sure her breasts are thoroughly cleaned. The tub of water has grown tepid but his hands feel warm upon her skin._ _

__“Don't say it,” he says, moving to finally soap up another part of her anatomy._ _

__“You have no idea what I was going to say,” Daenerys protests, setting the comb aside on a small table next to the tub._ _

__“Something along the lines of my hair being _pretty_ ,” he pitches his voice high on the last word and she laughs in surprise. The few jokes he's ever made have been dry._ _

__“All right,” she says, leaning back so he can finish his careful work as he scrubs along her stomach and hips, “but I wasn't going to say that.”_ _

__“No?” Jon cups water in his hands and pours it down the swells and curves of her._ _

__She huffs when his tongue traces the path between her breasts. They do not have time for that as she doesn't want to take another bath because of them sharing a bath. The intention was for them to be less wasteful and they have a busy day. “Fine. I was going to say _beautiful_.”_ _

__He snorts a laugh into her bellybutton. “I don't see much difference.”_ _

__She presses his face against her sex, curls her fingers in his wet hair. “You disagree with a Queen?”_ _

__His response is convincing enough that she will let him disagree with her for the rest of their days together._ _

__

__*_ _

__

__The next day she wakes, she will tell him she loves him and that Jon is the only one for her._ _

__Daenerys promises this to herself every night, whether in the comfort of his arms or by her lonesome._ _

__She swears it will not be her undoing, that it will indeed forge an unbreakable union. Even if he doesn't give voice to a similar understanding, she is _his_. Daenerys cannot let herself to succumb to fear. Their love will never be a weakness. _ _

__But when the morning comes, she does not say anything and she swears tomorrow, tomorrow she will tell him. There is no time, isn’t that what he always says, there is _no time_ yet he always makes time for her and she does in return. _ _

__“What are you thinking of?” Jon whispers thickly against her hair._ _

__“I don’t want to get out of bed yet,” she says in a soft breath. His arms tighten around her. “But duty calls and we must serve our people.”_ _

__Thus ever the routine to take on her queenly countenance. Her heart must be guarded in the morning, for it is easy to feel so vulnerable when all her careful artifices are stripped away._ _

__They will steal away rare moments together, share these intimate moments when they ought not to do so, and she can trick herself to believe it is truly enough. But the truth dances on her tongue and she must swallow it back. Who knows what today will bring._ _

__He says it then, and she almost misses it, lost in her brooding thoughts. Daenerys gasps in shock and begs him to repeat but he has scarcely gotten the words out again before she turns to face him and confess the same. Her love was never in question, yet when she sees his face she realizes he does not quite believe it. She swears to him that every moment they have until they draw their last breaths, she will _prove_ it him._ _

__“Have faith in us, Jon,” she says. Her belief is vast and selfish and terrible and she will wrap it around him, around their love. This, she swears to him._ _


End file.
